


(i've been waiting for) the end of paralysis

by montea (gamorage)



Series: the sun will rise (and we will try again) [2]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Post-Episode: s02e08 Spacewalker, Purgatory, Rewrite, a coda of sorts, tmw u forget u rewrote ur own fic for 4 years
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-14
Updated: 2020-09-14
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:28:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26453392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gamorage/pseuds/montea
Summary: You die. But not really.
Series: the sun will rise (and we will try again) [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/360209
Kudos: 2





	(i've been waiting for) the end of paralysis

**Author's Note:**

> hello again , my friends :-)
> 
> i wrote the original version of this RIGHT AFTER the 2x08 aired (a lot has happened on the show since then lol) and really loved it. but then i deleted it because i got #insecure. and then reposted it because i got #fullofmyself. (this is a pattern for me sorry lol). and then reread it and decided it needed a rewrite. so i did it, but promptly forgot it happened for at least four years (#adhdprobs).
> 
> all this to say: i rediscovered it today, looking through my old google drive, and loved this version. i considered deleting the original and posting this in its place but decided against it; people enjoyed the first version, and it's cool to see the progression of someone's writing process. so it's going to be the second part of the series. 
> 
> not beta'd! in this house we live with the mistakes we make bc we are too afraid to ask for help! :)
> 
> pls enjoy, the title is from poison oak by bright eyes.

You die, and your head drops heavily down, forehead resting on the shoulder of the woman you love. Your last bloody, labored breath smells of Her and you smile faintly. She is still holding you when everything fades to black.

You die, and suddenly you are horizontal instead of vertical and you can no longer feel the warmth of Clarke’s embrace or the sharp pain of the knife in your stomach or the blood that is leaving your body and staining your shirt and Clarke’s hands and you think for just a moment that this was all a dream; you never massacred that village, never fell in love with Clarke, never fell to Earth in a fiery explosion with ninety-nine other teenage delinquents. 

You die, and you know it’s just wishful thinking, because you may not feel the knife in your stomach or taste the blood on your tongue anymore but you can no longer feel your heart beating against your ribs, _thump, thump, thump_ , or the air filling your lungs. You can’t feel anything at all.

You die, and when you open your eyes, you are lying down on the dirt. You sit up and you see your own body, bloody and limp where it’s tied to that wooden pole, and you hear Raven’s anguished screams and the Grounders’ cheers and when you finally look at Clarke you can’t help but think that if you were Alive, the loss of the last shred of innocence she has left would settle deep, deep in your bones because you always knew it would happen but you never thought _you’d_ be the one to cause it. She stands tall, but you know she's trying desperately not to fall to pieces.

You die. But not really.

There are four things you know about wherever it is you are now that you’re Dead.

One; you’re not in the same Place your friends are. It’s almost as if there’s a screen between your Place and theirs, and you are able to see and hear and smell and react to them but not the other way around. And, you realize, watching helplessly as Clarke tries to wash the blood ( _your_ blood) from her hands, scrubbing until her skin is raw and red, you’re not sure how you feel about it. 

Two; this probably isn’t Heaven because you’re pretty sure that after what you did in the last few weeks of your life, nobody would let you within a mile of The Pearly Gates or however that old Earth phrase goes. You wonder, as you see Raven’s grief, her unbridled rage toward Clarke for pushing that knife into your stomach, if this is Hell. You had, after all, massacred the entire village of innocent Grounders in cold blood. (If Here _is_ , in fact, Hell, it’s not at all what you’d expected; you’d figured, before dying, that Hell would be more of a Fire And Brimstone type place, full of Hate and Chaos and Ceaseless Suffering and Eternal Punishment For Your Sins at the hands of the Accuser or Beelzebub or whatever the Devil wants to call itself. Then again. Hell might be different for different Sinners.)

Three; time is different Here. Days in Alive World pass just as slowly as they always have, but it isn’t the same on your side of the Screen. You think, as you see your friends burn your body, that perhaps time doesn’t exist at all in this Place. That nothing ever was or will be. Everything just is.

Four; you are completely, utterly alone.

Perhaps, you think, this is your Punishment.

The first time you Travel Back, it’s an accident.

You’ve been watching Clarke for two or three Alive Days and all you can think of is how it had been Before. You remember the first few days on Earth, when it took less than twenty-four hours for everything to go to shit, and you and Clarke and Wells had to leave camp to find the seaweed that would treat Jasper’s wound. You remember your first encounter with the acid fog and the automobile and the whiskey. You remember the hate in Clarke’s eyes as she looked at her best friend dead in the eyes and told him that he killed her father, and the way Wells lowered his head in guilt when she asked him why. You remember watching the exchange and recognizing his resignation when Wells just sat there and took her abuse.

You don’t realize you’ve moved at all until you hear the voices.

_… what do you want me to say?_

_I want an explanation._

You’re confused, and it takes a moment to process, but you’re no longer sitting at Clarke’s side in her tent in Camp Jaha - you’re in a cramped corner of a dark automobile, seeing Clarke and Wells and your stupid, shaggy-haired self right sitting in front you.

_I can’t give you one. I thought I could trust him._

Finn has just passed the bottle of century-old liquor to Clarke, and after she drinks a considerable amount (without flinching, you remember thinking absently), you realize she’s got _that look_ on her face, and you know exactly what’s coming next.

 _Well, I thought I could trust my best friend. Guess we were both wrong_.

Clarke is tipsy and angry and gripping that bottle so tightly and Wells is looking at her with sad, sad eyes and Finn looks _so uncomfortable_ that you’d probably laugh if you didn’t live through what happened after this.

_I’m still your friend._

You see, out of the corner of your eye, that Finn’s looking between the two and know that he’s putting the pieces together, beginning to question Wells’ role in Jake Griffin’s execution. Your gaze returns to Clarke and she just looks so furious and heartbroken and _lost_ and you _hate_ that this is probably the least amount of pain she’s felt on Earth, because tonight a little girl with horrible, horrible nightmares will sit with Wells while he’s on watch, take Murphy’s knife, and stab him until he bleeds out. And the next day, that same little girl will fling herself off a cliff to atone for it. And the next day…

You close your eyes. Take a deep breath.

_In peace, may you leave the shore._

That… that’s not part of this memory.

_In love, may you find the next._

It’s Clarke’s voice, and you know she’s trying to appear stronger than she’s feeling.

_Safe passage on your travels until our final journey to the ground._

You open your eyes. You’ve Moved again. Clarke is alone at the gravesite by the dropship; there are only four, three of which Wells had dug. 

(You remember that you’d watched him do it curiously; after finishing each one, he would kneel down on the dirt and press his hands to the dirt, whispering those parting words you now know too well to the graves of teenagers who’d treated him like the scum of the Earth.)

(( _The kid you’re burying - Atom. He treated you like shit._ You had said to him once. _Why’re you burying him? He wouldn’t have done the same for you._

Wells didn’t even look up from his digging as he answered. _Everyone deserves a proper goodbye, Finn. Regardless of how they treated me, there are people up there who loved him. I owe it to them to make sure he wasn’t forgotten_.))

 _May we meet again_. 

Clarke isn’t crying. There is steel in her eyes and her jaw clenches and you want more than anything to hold her and tell her she’ll be fine. You have to remind yourself that it’s not possible.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see Alive Finn turning the corner, rustling some leaves in the process. Clarke turns sharply, drawing her knife. You remember this.

 _They got Wells just outside the wall_ , Finn says.

You are enthralled by the exchange. The pencil, the way her eyes soften ever so slightly when he grins. 

“Finn?”

A familiar tenor - you know this voice, but it isn’t part of this memory. You frown.

“Finn.”

It’s louder now. Closer. You whirl around find yourself face to face with _Wells fucking Jaha_ , Chancellor of Earth. He reaches for you, grabs your forearm. And suddenly you are Nowhere.

“I call it Elsewhere,” Wells tells you. You’ve moved past the initial shock, and you’re watching a meteor shower that happened some time before you fell to Earth. “Though that’s just me. It’s not like Earth in that way; there’s no set name for it. I’ve known people to call it In-Between, Purgatory, Limbo, Oblivion, Nowhere… even Perdition, sometimes. It all depends on how it treats you when you’re here. It’s-”

“What about Hell?” You ask. 

Wells looks taken aback, but answers anyway. “I mean… possibly in more extreme cases. But yeah.”

Neither of you speak for a few moments.

“It’s just-” you say, “I just spent my _whole life_ surrounded by people. People who gave a shit, you know? And even if I treated them like utter crap, they’d still be there. Rooting me on. Standing by me. I massacred an entire _village_ in cold blood and I still had people trying to save me. I took advantage of it. And then I died and came Here, and I guess - I guess I just thought that being alone would be, like, my Eternal Punishment or whatever.”

Wells furrows his eyebrows. “Punishment? For what?”

“I mean, I know _now_ that it _wasn’t_ , seeing as I’m sat here talking to you. But, um.” You scratch the back of your neck. “I _did_ kill a bunch of people. For, you know. No reason.”

Wells chuckles. “I know. And while I don’t condone your actions, sitting around Here, wallowing in guilt and self-pity for the rest of eternity won’t do shit to atone for it. Do you believe in God?”

You frown. “In a sense, but what-”

“I’ve been dead a _while_ , Finn. And from what I can see, if He is Here, He isn’t the vengeful God we were taught about in the Bible. He gives everyone the chance to right the wrongs they committed when they were Alive. If you want to repent, Finn, just _do it_.”

A momentary silence. 

“ _Jesus_ , Wells, when did _you_ become a life coach?”

He looks at you for a moment before bursting into laughter. It’s not hard for you to fall into it as well.

**Author's Note:**

> pls give me validation my children are starving :'(


End file.
